. At the gate where Dyke had turned into the ranch house
grounds, they halted in confusion a moment. One started to follow the
highwayman's trail towards the stable corral, but the other, quartering
over the road with lightning swiftness, suddenly picked up the new
scent leading on towards Guadalajara. He tossed his head in the air, and
Presley abruptly shut his hands over his ears.

Ah, that terrible cry! deep-toned, reverberating like the bourdon of a
great bell. It was the trackers exulting on the trail of the pursued,
the prolonged, raucous howl, eager, ominous, vibrating with the alarm of
the tocsin, sullen with the heavy muffling note of death. But close upon
the bay of the hounds, came the gallop of horses. Five men, their eyes
upon the hounds, their rifles across their pommels, their horses reeking
and black with sweat, swept by in a storm of dust, glinting hoofs, and
streaming manes.

"That was Delaney's gang," exclaimed Annixter. "I saw him."

"The other was that chap Christian," said Vacca, "S. Behrman's cousin.
He had two deputies with him; and the chap in the white slouch hat was
the sheriff from Visalia."

"By the Lord, they aren't far behind," declared Annixter.

As the men turned towards the house again they saw Hilma and Mrs. Dyke
in the doorway of the little house where the latter lived. They were
looking out, bewildered, ignorant of what had happened. But on the
porch of the Ranch house itself, alone, forgotten in the excitement,
Sidney--the little tad--stood, with pale face and serious, wide-open
eyes. She had seen everything, and had understood. She said nothing. Her
head inclined towards the roadway, she listened to the faint and distant
baying of the dogs.

Dyke thundered across the railway tracks by the depot at Guadalajara not
five minutes ahead of his pursuers. Luck seemed to have deserted him.
The station, usually so quiet, was now occupied by the crew of a freight
train that lay on the down track; while on the up line, near at hand and
headed in the same direction, was a detached locomotive, whose engineer
and fireman recognized him, he was sure, as the buckskin leaped across
the rails.

He had had no time to formulate a plan since that morning, when,
tortured with thirst, he had ventured near the spring at the headwaters
of Broderson Creek, on Quien Sabe, and had all but fallen into the hands
of the posse that had been watching for that very move. It was useless
now to regret that he